Letter 1
A Letter to my Lola who never gave up,
I've never thought that I had it easy in life. When I remember the amount of patience I had to forcefully incorporate into my muscles as I stared at a hundred-peso Barbie doll that my mother couldn’t buy for me, I can still taste the resentment I felt back then. It was never easy to be constantly disappointed that I couldn’t own those trendy roller bags, wear yellow raincoats and dance under the rainy skies with my friends, or even afford that particular chocolate brand being sold at the canteen. Looking back, it wouldn’t be an understatement to say that my insecurity was about to ascend to the heavens, engraved so deeply in my bones that they only bled for years. It wasn't until I started seeing more of the world and hearing many stories about people, especially about me, that I realized there was someone behind every scene I misunderstood who carried the weight of decades for me to grow and finally realize how shortsighted I was. Lola, you shouldered the responsibility of a breadwinner so that my mother could feed us three times a day. You did not give up on us when we were sick and required expensive medications; when we were throwing tantrums and being mischievous; when life got so hard on you that you had to raise your children alone and had to support them in their troubled marriages. It must have been grueling when you had to endure those thoughts of failing as a wife because you cannot despair in the presence of your kids, who need to rely on you from now on.
Lola, I can't remember how many times you smiled at me, kissing my cheeks while telling me I should never lose track of my goals. I understand now that you don’t want me to end up experiencing the difficulties you braved for almost your entire life. Thank you for giving me money for the transportation fare when I don’t have one. Thank you for calling me after I got into a fight with Mom. Thank you for always checking up on me now that I am away from home and miss everyone. Thank you so much for the little and big things you did that I couldn’t count anymore, La. I promise I will do my best to live well.
Love,
watercolourcantcolour
Letter 2
For those that are missed,
The folds (on your skin) conceal the intimacy of past hardships looking at you directly. I would have never known that you fought for your love. I remember when you told us that your mother begged you not to marry him, "unsay ma hatag niya?" Clichรจ I know, I thought the line only existed in teleseryes, but it happened to you. Your mother saw both of your dedication to love one another, so she offered to pay for his education. "Mao to nag start na si mama og accept sa imo lolo." My mother wouldn’t have existed if you hadn’t fought for your love and if your grandmother never saw past the struggles of a new relationship.
I miss my Lola dearly. Her favourite buko pandan pandesal became my own favourite. The smell from the bakery brings back memories of when we spent Christmas alone together because we both don’t like going out. We saw fireworks together, and I slept in your bed. It was the first and last time you told me that you loved me. The next year you passed, and we wept and grieved. The eulogies started, and I just stared at the coffin because I didn't know how to write. I was only 13 and it was the first time a close family member of mine died.
You were the one that told me that I was meant for something big.
I didn't understand at that time, and I still don’t.
But
I write because my grandmother loved me.
I write because my mother’s grandmother loved me.
Truly yours,
LucSamael
Letter 3
To the people I will always go back to
Going back to the province means hugging and kissing you both.
To eat my favorite dish that I can eat anytime in the city, but the thought that you are cooking it made it special. The thought that you’re making something for me is the reason why the dish became my favorite. It’s not how it tastes; it’s the effort that made me decide that it’s my favorite. It’s the idea that you’re cooking a dish for me to cheer me up, to welcome me, and to make me feel loved. It’s not just the embraces, hugs, and kisses that make me always go back to the province, but the time and belongingness.
Going back to the province means riding a horse. I still remember how mad you were when I tried riding a horse and fell. I was in pain, but your scolding managed to break the ice that grew with me. The patience you’ve had to teach me to ride a horse was wholesome.
Going back to the province means going back to you both.
But now I’m going back to the province with my favorite dish, which I now know how to cook and eat in front of your graves. To have a meal with you before I ride the horse for the last time. A meal for acceptance and a ride of forgiveness that I will never be able to eat again my favorite dish.
A fallen petal of
Tulip
Letter 4
An Ode To My Nanay
'Kindness is all I can give,'
Says my grandmother as she settles on her favorite chair,
Her eyes wrinkling together with her crooked smile,
A start of her lifelong adventures to tell.
Her hands, weathered, yet gentle as a sigh,
Held mine as she spun narratives with warmth,
Accompanied by the sweet serenade of birds,
Her soft voice, a lullaby, filled the room's embrace.
She paints a portrait to confide in, a canvas to get drawn to,
In all that she meets, wisdom and love are bestowed,
Even her contagious laughter, a melody we all pursue,
And for the person she is, admiration only grows.
With her compassion, I've learned,
A legacy of priceless treasure, a story in words untold,
With her presence, I'll always find, An endless light, a guide back home.
words from,
Ma. Brejette Jan Cometa
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